


You Can Count On Me To Misbehave

by chewysugar



Series: You Are The Diamonds [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Music, Marina and the Diamonds, Minor Castiel/Crowley (Supernatural), Minor Crowley/Dean Winchester, Minor Crowley/Sam Winchester, Ruler of Hell Crowley (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 09:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16060580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: When Crowley gets bored, he turns his attention to some old friends to break the monotony.





	You Can Count On Me To Misbehave

**Author's Note:**

> Rated for possible dubcon and sexual content if you squint. Like, really squint. 
> 
> Lyrics from the song "Primadonna."

Crowley surveyed his domain, and saw that it was good. Well, not good. He could never stand for anything good in his kingdom. That would, he reasoned, entirely defeat the purpose of Hell.

Well-oiled. That was the right term. Everything ran smoothly and efficiently. Screams echoed, not from every corner of Hell, but from the correct corners. Lucifer, in all his childishness, had let the place go to the hellhounds, and Crowley had seen fit to clean it up.

Torture went where it was supposed to; the troops stayed where he needed them, and the flames only burned when he commanded them to. It was nothing short of utter bliss.

But sometimes he felt rather bored by the almost bureaucratic way things had transpired. As he sat on his throne of bone and gold—blood, sinew and bone furniture being terribly passé and uncomfortable—he felt a typical urge to make something happen. Not necessarily diabolical, mind—he wasn’t in the mood for an eternal struggle against the forces of Heaven and Earth.

No, what Crowley needed at that particular point in time was a break in the monotony. And when Crowley grew bored, beings tended to suffer.

He slid from his seat, and shimmered to a wide-open vista of Hell. He stared round at the sea of demons and damned souls, all of them old hat and of little interest. They would be easy to screw with—or screw in general. But his palette craved a flavor entirely different from hellspawn.

Crowley’s beady, black gaze slide to the unseen ceiling of his kingdom.

Yes. Up there, where the foul meatsuits lived. He wanted to play with them—in particular with a certain pair of them.

He’d thought his playtime with the brothers Winchester had ended. They had, after all, given him what he wanted in the end—a seat, here in the one space in all existence he could be left in sodding _peace_. But the thought of the Squirrel growing frantic at, say, all logic disappearing form his life, or the Moose’s pretty lips stretched wide as an intrusive dream disturbed his slumber...Crowley’s mouth watered at the very idea. He might even be able to toy with that besotted angel if time permitted.

Oh, but they would get the better of him in the end. That was the fun of it—the holier-than-thou good-conquers-all chastisement. It was a visit to the headmaster, the dressing down from nanny—all things that the proud Brit he’d once been get his jollies from.

Crowley turned. The scene changed from monochromes and scarlet’s to an empty stretch of highway. He knew the boys in the big black muscle car would drive by soon.

Then the games could begin.

Evil never won. Crowley had been around long enough to be content with that. But as the headlights of the beastly Impala fell upon him standing in the middle of the Interstate, Crowley had to admit—evil had fun where it could get it.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
